Struggling for your apartment keys in your whale-sized backpack and failing for a good 3 minutes and 45 seconds is not exactly the best way you want to enter home, especially after an 8 hour work day, a one hour body pump class and what you're sure was a two hour commute out of the city (because who wants to keep track of how much of their life is spent on a train?). It's funnier because you're pretty sure you latched every key chain you own onto your tiny little apartment key for the sole purpose of avoiding this situation of clumsily standing outside your own front door. It's only natural for random passers-by to look at you with mild pity, likely with the thought that this twenty-something year old clearly does not have her life together. Yes, struggling for ones own house keys is the biggest indicator of that, truly.
Once you finally manage to stumble into your apartment, you realize that it's summer, and yes, your apartment does not have even the lowliest form of an air conditioner. Being as broke as you are for three-quarters of the month, buying a functional air conditioner is simply not an option.
Time to peel off your gym wear, which at this stage should not by so tight, given the amount of time spent in said gym wear each week. Clearly, that's not how life works. The black workout pants are as tight as they ever were, and the weighing scale shows no promise either.
For a second you almost forget that adulthood comes with having to make your own dinner on most days. 'Make' being 'find', truthfully. On days that you're lucky enough to have edible ingredients, you toss in all the contents of your refrigerator into the non-stick pan that your mom so thoughtfully bought for you with the hope that you will one day become a master chef and make delicious South Indian curries to impress future in-laws. Little does she know that your cooking entails tossing and adding oil, salt and pepper to your motley amalgam of vegetables. Oh and ketchup, because let's be real, anything tastes good witha little lots of ketchup.
Anyhow, it's the middle of the week and whatever groceries you had stocked up have somehow disappeared from the meager collection of items on your shelf. Magic does exist, it seems. In the form of disappearing groceries. Driving out to Whole Foods is the only remaining option, aside from starving, of course, which you've definitely done on occasion.
After another relatively minor struggle to find your car keys (you've dealt with worse), you triumphantly leave your apartment. Well not really- you shuffle in and out a couple of times because you forgot your wallet the first time, and your reuseable bag the next (might as well save the planet in the process, right?). And your sunglasses. But then you realize that it's 10 pm. Right.
Miraculously, you manage to maneuver your car out of your complex, dodging a couple of aunties clad in salwar kameez and white Nike running shoes, staying so faithful to the typical Indian middle- aged woman clothing stereotype. Like many other things that you are blessed with, a bad sense of direction is one. You hastily enter Whole Foods' address on Google maps, despite the million and one times you have traveled there these past few months.
Entering the Whole Foods parking lot, the moment of truth slowly creeps upon you. Parking time. With the number of parking disasters you've had in your less than six months of driving, it's hard to not be extra cautious. No matter how far it is from the store entrance, you find a spot that has empty lots on BOTH sides. You even circle around for a few minutes just to find this perfect spot, believing it to be almost fool proof in terms of preventing potential, probable calamities.
By the time you disparately pull together some basic groceries and lug everything back to your car, the two empty spots the were sandwiching your car have been taken (need I even say this), and one car is parked inches from yours. I mean, of course, how would they know what a struggle it is for you to back up your car without ramming into the ones next to you. You make a mental note to stick a sign to the back of your car next time.
By now, all your hopes of writing a glorious article or chapter of what's undoubtedly going to be a future best-seller (high hopes) have disappeared into thin air and sleep is calling. Your final thoughts before falling into a blissful slumber are 'You're never going to be a writer at this rate'.
//end
Once you finally manage to stumble into your apartment, you realize that it's summer, and yes, your apartment does not have even the lowliest form of an air conditioner. Being as broke as you are for three-quarters of the month, buying a functional air conditioner is simply not an option.
Time to peel off your gym wear, which at this stage should not by so tight, given the amount of time spent in said gym wear each week. Clearly, that's not how life works. The black workout pants are as tight as they ever were, and the weighing scale shows no promise either.
For a second you almost forget that adulthood comes with having to make your own dinner on most days. 'Make' being 'find', truthfully. On days that you're lucky enough to have edible ingredients, you toss in all the contents of your refrigerator into the non-stick pan that your mom so thoughtfully bought for you with the hope that you will one day become a master chef and make delicious South Indian curries to impress future in-laws. Little does she know that your cooking entails tossing and adding oil, salt and pepper to your motley amalgam of vegetables. Oh and ketchup, because let's be real, anything tastes good with
Anyhow, it's the middle of the week and whatever groceries you had stocked up have somehow disappeared from the meager collection of items on your shelf. Magic does exist, it seems. In the form of disappearing groceries. Driving out to Whole Foods is the only remaining option, aside from starving, of course, which you've definitely done on occasion.
After another relatively minor struggle to find your car keys (you've dealt with worse), you triumphantly leave your apartment. Well not really- you shuffle in and out a couple of times because you forgot your wallet the first time, and your reuseable bag the next (might as well save the planet in the process, right?). And your sunglasses. But then you realize that it's 10 pm. Right.
Miraculously, you manage to maneuver your car out of your complex, dodging a couple of aunties clad in salwar kameez and white Nike running shoes, staying so faithful to the typical Indian middle- aged woman clothing stereotype. Like many other things that you are blessed with, a bad sense of direction is one. You hastily enter Whole Foods' address on Google maps, despite the million and one times you have traveled there these past few months.
Entering the Whole Foods parking lot, the moment of truth slowly creeps upon you. Parking time. With the number of parking disasters you've had in your less than six months of driving, it's hard to not be extra cautious. No matter how far it is from the store entrance, you find a spot that has empty lots on BOTH sides. You even circle around for a few minutes just to find this perfect spot, believing it to be almost fool proof in terms of preventing potential, probable calamities.
By the time you disparately pull together some basic groceries and lug everything back to your car, the two empty spots the were sandwiching your car have been taken (need I even say this), and one car is parked inches from yours. I mean, of course, how would they know what a struggle it is for you to back up your car without ramming into the ones next to you. You make a mental note to stick a sign to the back of your car next time.
By now, all your hopes of writing a glorious article or chapter of what's undoubtedly going to be a future best-seller (high hopes) have disappeared into thin air and sleep is calling. Your final thoughts before falling into a blissful slumber are 'You're never going to be a writer at this rate'.
//end
